


Bargain Basement

by fascinationex



Series: transformers fics by fascinationex [16]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Decepticons - Freeform, Galactic politics, Hostage Negotiation But In The Wrong Direction, Humor, M/M, Megatron No, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Political Alliances, Soundwave's silent judgment is the fourth major character in this fic, also a tiny bit of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22556734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fascinationex/pseuds/fascinationex
Summary: “You wantwhat,” Megatron said slowly. He felt like he might laugh, like his tanks were full of indigestible coolants and incredulous hilarity was a strange bubble drifting up from his chest, waiting to burst. [Megatron sells Starscream for a bunch of rocks. The wisdom of this decision is... debatable.]
Relationships: Megatron/Starscream
Series: transformers fics by fascinationex [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1311599
Comments: 30
Kudos: 116





	Bargain Basement

1.

“You want _what_ ,” Megatron said slowly. He felt like he might laugh, like his tanks were full of indigestible coolants and incredulous hilarity was a strange bubble drifting up from his chest, waiting to burst. 

He suppressed the feeling, and reset his vocaliser instead. He could restrain himself when the moment called for it. Sometimes. Occasionally. 

Unlike the fleshy Earth creatures, the Rixians were both aware of the wider universe outside their own planet, and very well armed. 

They were no _real_ threat to the true might of the Decepticon Empire, of course. But the Decepticon Empire, however mighty, could only fight a war on so many fronts at once. A shame, but there it was.

Worse, the Rixians seemed… unfortunately well-informed. 

They acted as though they already knew that Megatron would unburden their planet of their sad little species and take all of its valuable, rare minerals without any of this silly negotiation business just as soon as he had the martial resources available to do it. The Decepticons’ reputation had, possibly, preceded them in this case. 

In exchange for trading him exactly those valuable, rare minerals, which he needed to end the (Autobot-sponsored, of course) Calefor resistance, the Rixians wanted a guarantee that he would not then turn the Decepticon Empire’s avaricious gaze upon them. 

He absolutely would, obviously. But better not to let them know.

The Rixian ambassador spread her six multi-jointed arms in an expressive shrug that actually translated quite well between species. 

“This is a thing of value, is it not? A show of faith. A friend or family might be left behind, but it has been with your army for millions of years.”

“He …has,” Megatron allowed. 

“It is your... how do you...” there was a pause, a low struggling buzz from the translator he was using, and then, “Your not-blood-next-in-lead,” she said, a phrase that the translator struggled to separate from the concept of some kind of adoption of marriage ceremony. The Rixians were big on family, quite unlike Cybertronians. 

The ambassador seemed to be having similar trouble finding a translatable word. She peered down at her notes. “The functional heir to the mighty Decepticon Empire,” she said, finally, and the translator stopped spitting static at him.

Megatron very nearly spat some static of his own. “Not while I still function!”

She was still looking at her notes. 

“Yes,” she agreed, rather blandly. She looked back up, finally, and smiled a perfunctory smile. “So we have heard.”

Megatron’s death was a victory condition Starscream had had no trouble assimilating into his convoluted, nasty, cogs-within-cogs little processor. But it was galling to think that news of his constant, rarely-checked treachery had reached even a bunch of organic aliens on some backwater little dirt-ball. 

Megatron vented heavily. 

“ _It_ must be very important.” The ambassador spread her arms again, fingers wiggling and joints clicking, and he had no idea what _that_ gesture meant. It wasn‘t a shrug. “Or else it wouldn’t be allowed.”

So that was their theory? That Starscream wasn’t dead yet because he was too valuable to kill? 

Starscream would be flattered, Megatron thought darkly. Wrong, but flattered.

“My executive officer,” Megatron said, sitting back, pretending that this would be any great sacrifice on his behalf. The urge to laugh bubbled up again, and again he crushed it. This short, stupid alliance would come cheaper than expected. “That _is_ a big demand. Starscream is so very... _necessary_ to the cause, after all.”

“If _it_ wasn’t valuable,” said the negotiator, fluttering three hands, “this would be a poor exchange.”

“Indeed,” Megatron said.

Of course there were duties they’d need to shuffle. Starscream didn’t only swan around showboating and constructing convoluted monuments to his own ego; he had _some_ function.

Skywarp was the next ranking air officer, which was a disaster waiting to happen, but Thundercracker would keep him in line – and they’d both be cowed by the threat that he might _not_ come back for their precious trine leader if they weren't well-behaved. It might be a novelty to have an acting air commander who was properly submissive. 

Soundwave wasn’t usually involved overmuch in strategy or staff work, but some of communications tasks could be shifted, and he was more than capable of it... Direct combat aside, there was very little Starscream could do that Soundwave could not do, if not _better_ , then at least _more quietly_. The problem was more the sheer volume of work.

Not for the first time, Megatron found himself contemplating the realities of the Decepticon army without Starscream. 

…

He would miss the interfacing. Yes. The wild, clawing, screeching interfacing that never failed to blow a few relays, which tended to leave him with ugly scorch marks from Starscream’s thrusters – and which similarly left Starscream with dents and scrapes that nobody bothered to question anymore. 

But he couldn’t really call that ‘vital to the Decepticon Cause’, could he? If that was truly Starscream’s strongest contribution to their forces, the title associated with that role wasn’t usually ‘executive officer’.

Megatron steepled his fingers. His vents opened just a crack, sighing softly.

“I’m willing to entertain the notion,” he said, smiling a sharp little smile at the expression of dismayed surprise that crossed the Rixian negotiator’s face and jolted all six of her hands into clenching, “but we will need some concessions in exchange. Starscream is, after all, _very_ important to our cause.” 

There was a short, but telling, pause while she recovered and Megatron only smiled wider at this evidence that she had not been expecting him to agree at all. 

“Of... of course, we ask a... big thing,” she said slowly. “We will hear.”

If she found it conspicuous that none of his concessions mentioned their treatment of Starscream at all, she didn’t mention it.

* * *

2.

In the shuttle back to the Nemesis, Soundwave’s silence felt positively frosty.

“What,” Megatron demanded, finally. 

“Soundwave: said nothing,” he responded, and then lapsed again into judgemental silence.

Megatron decided to ignore him. 

* * *

3\. 

“Don’t worry, Starscream,” said Megatron, gloating, “We’ll be back to conquer their little planet in a century at most.”

“Mng...?” Starscream’s vocaliser spat out a stream of static-thick binary noises, and then a grunt that sounded more like his real voice-- that was, shrieky. And intolerable. It sounded sort of like a protest, to Megatron, but that could have been him protesting anything, really. Starscream was always terribly dramatic. 

He _had_ been pretty adamant in his opposition to Megatron’s plan of sending him as a “guest” in exchange for Rixian support, which was why he was being sent on his way with about three quarters of his wings intact and drugged to his cracked optics on some dubious thing of Mixmaster’s creation. 

Allegedly, the compound slowed data transfer speed. It couldn’t be turned into a useful weapon so Megatron hadn’t listened much beyond that. 

“And in the meantime,” he purred as a drone strapped Starscream into a tiny, pre-programmed escape shuttle, “I’ll get to recharge peacefully.”

With a final snap, Starscream was fixed firmly in place. His helm lolled sideways. He had protested quite strenuously, and they’d given him a lot of… stuff.

Megatron smiled like a shark.

“The Decepticon Empire thanks you for your service, Starscream!” he crowed, unable to help himself, and then he turned his back on Starscream’s spiteful, staticky beeping as the shuttle hissed closed. 

“Launch it,” he said to Soundwave, who did not hesitate to obey.

A moment later, the tiny shuttle, and Starscream strapped within it, were propelled out into the icy void of space to find their landing coordinates on the Rixian space station. 

Megatron vented deeply as though ejecting some vile gas from his heavy frame, and marched off deeper into the ship. He ignored Thundercracker’s twitchiness, unreadable expression and sharply elevated wings, and the palpable sense of judgement he could feel radiating from Soundwave _still._

Nobody protested.

Not aloud, anyway.

That stood to reason. Usually when someone protested one of Megatron’s plans, it was Starscream – and he was a fading speck in the distance.

**Author's Note:**

> If you are inclined to comment and you liked something in particular about this fic, please feel free to let me know. Otherwise, have a good night :)


End file.
